


Chromaggia

by Meghan Callahan (cuddlybunny)



Series: Soar High and Hunt Well [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Body Augmentation, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Forced Surgery, Hallucinations, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7052659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlybunny/pseuds/Meghan%20Callahan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Templar Dens house Templars...and some Graverobber Dens do, too; Jacob's raid of an augmentation lab goes horribly wrong and his student pays the price</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Job

The warehouse looked abandoned enough, but any Assassin worth their salt knew they all looked abandoned enough. Usually, though, Templar dens were always full. At least minimally, if they were lucky.

They seemed to have gotten lucky this time. Jacob shifted his coat on his shoulders, pulling up the hood of his coat over his face. This was their first big score in six months. One of Starrick's lieutenants had let slip the location of a whole stash of augmentation parts, ripe for the picking. How could he say no? His eyes roved the boys.

Graverobbers all, in clothes on varying stages of falling apart. Men and women born on the streets, tired of living in fear, all with the great Rook of London on the back; the black bird stylized on a design of the old, defunct Union Jack. Each had augmented their abilities in some way to overthrow the iron grip of Starrick. 

It was all a bit romantic, really. Evie thought it was stupid, but she pushed as much as he and Kes ever did. She just looked for ghosts of Old London instead of spending that Z money on toppling what was here and now. He suspected it was because of _her_. His face twisted a little just thinking of it.

 ** _Miss_** Lucy Thorne. Crawford Starrick’s right hand, occult expert, and general pain in Jacob Frye’s ass. He had her to thank for the tip, though. He couldn't look the gift horse too deeply in the mouth. Lucy hadn't handed them over yet.

The smallest of the Graverobbers rolled her shoulders, looking toward the window of the building. Warm gold light shined within, casting almost overdramatic shadows on her face. It only served to show how negligently she'd put on her makeup, the white paint streaky and blurred through in places where she'd rubbed it off without thinking. Her eyes were ringed in black, making them look sunken in and her face slightly more skull-like. It, too, had rubbed and streaked, but it had been put on messily anyway, too much black around her too-wide, almost silver grey eyes. To cover bruises from a fight with a rival gang, no doubt. It would make sense, considering how puffy her bottom lip was under the smeared black lip stain.

She had pulled back her hair, brown and fluffy and thick. When they kissed, he liked to wind it in his fingers, hold her mouth there as long as they could both stand it. It made her feel more real sometimes, when he wasn't sure that the tiny, boyish little thing he had come to love could exist. Maybe that was why she had been growing it out lately. Normally, she slashed it off at about her chin. The nub at the back of her head suggested it was nearly to her shoulders now. Her bangs still hung down, almost in her eyes in some places, but not quite.

She wore a single earring, a small hoop with a pearl in the center, in the top cartilage of her left ear. In the middle of the pearl was a carefully drawn little black bird. It went well with the one pierced through Jacob’s nipple, one he felt chafe and pull just slightly when he dressed in the morning. The rest of her outfit was obviously second and third hand. A grimy pair of black shorts that were now more patches and stitches than actual pants and barely came down her thighs. A black fishnet shirt that was all but shredded apart over a black crop top she'd plucked off an old body with a big green pot leaf on the front. No shoes on her tiny bare feet. And on her back, her hooded gang jacket.

Kestrel was the only one allowed to have a different coat than the rest. The black coat hit the back of her knees, hooded like the others, with long sleeves he or Pearl often had to roll up so they didn't block her hands. But, on the back, she wore two symbols instead of one. On the left shoulder, the London Rook. On the right, a proud black Jackdaw over the lighter black flag of the pirate nation of Nassau.

When she stretched idly, he saw the very edgings of the tattoo she was having done of the same symbol, safe within the arms of the Assassin’s crest, on her side, along her ribs. He smiled a little fondly. He was looking forward to getting this job done so he could see the progress being done on it. Especially since that involved her taking off her shirt.

Jacob pulled his eyes away from her. When he'd been sent the Jackdaws’ protégé, he had been expecting a child soldier, a little boy with wide eyes for all the things he was going to teach them. And he could say they were too young and send them out of this mess. Kestrel Miyamoto had been none of these things. She was more than old enough to know as much as he did, and even taught him some things. She really just needed someone to lean on.

Besides, no one refused Edward Kenway, the founder of the Caribbean Graverobbers and the one who brought the Assassins back from the dead. More or less. He had a lot of weight to throw around, a lot of temper, and a soft spot for his adopted child.

Jacob had soon found out why. She'd grown on him, even though she wouldn't let him admit it aloud. He turned back to the window as she pulled up her hood, shielding her androgynous face in shadows. Then, he brought his green-hazel eyes back to the boys. “This will be an easy job, hopefully,” He murmured, “And once we finish, we'll have enough augments for everyone. I go this way with half of you. The other half, head out with Kes and circle around the back. We'll catch them in the middle. If things go tits up, let Kes go in first and finish them off.”

They nodded in silence, most of them scurrying off, Kes with them. He caught her wrist, fingers closing around the beaten leather bracer there, the one that held her hidden blade. He pulled her in close to him, hand on her cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss down to her lips, hard. She could have pulled away at any time, her super strength augmentation would see to that. But, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and the pinky-nail sized vial of Zydrate on the end of the cord around his neck, pulling him in and holding him there.

She slowly released him, eyes opening as she tried her best to catch her breath again. “Well, good luck to you, too, Jake,” She murmured with a grin, a wild reckless one that bared most of her teeth. If her lip stain had been smeared before, it surely was now, and he honestly didn't mind.

“Be careful, all right?” He finally asked, before leaning down to her ear, whispering, “I have a whole stash in for us to share tonight, if this goes my way. And I am going to make you feel so good, that kiss is going to feel like a slap in the face.”

He felt the little shiver - or was it a vibration of excitement - as she turned to look up at him. “I'll be fine,” Kes winked, leaning up and kissing him again, harder, with a needy edge bleeding into it. When she pulled away, she was shaking and he had his hands on her hips, almost ready to press her up against the wall and tease her some more. But, she put the gun in his hand. “Help a girl out? It's way harder when I'm wearing clothes.”

Jacob looked at it in his hand, and his senses slowly began to trickle back from where they had been. He looked at the vial, the glowing blue fluid with small bubbles of green. He would have asked if she thought she could function afterward, but he knew better. Kes could practically drink her marijuana/Zydrate mix and still be fine. It was the crash everyone had to be worried about. She'd been getting jittery lately, too. It had been that way since they got the word about Adewale, killed by a Repo Man for his heart. Another thing they would have to abolish when they reformed London. 

By the time he looked up, she was already against the wall, head leaned back and her legs apart, shorts hiked up on one side. He could see the old scars and new reddish markings from previous bouts. He got down on one knee, like he was going to propose, stabbed the needle into the skin and pulled the trigger. He heard the hiss, from her and the gun, looking up as he pulled it out. She grinned again, that grin that always lit up the dark places in his life.

“Let's make some magiiiic,” She teased, giving a little wave of her hands and he snickered, “Thanks, Jake. I owe you.” She licked her lips, disappearing into the shadow. He walked to meet up with his men, trying not to follow suit. He did know at some point tonight, they were going to have to talk about Ade. He didn't know the man personally, but he knew that the Jackdaws’ second had been like a father as much as Edward to the girl. She had to have been heartbroken, even if she was hiding it.

He looked back to the job, watching the templars come and go. “Wait for the signal,” He whispered, and slipped inside.


	2. The Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes horribly awry

She heard the whistle before the others did, and did what she did best. Kes ripped a section of wall out and tossed it aside. “Evening, boys,” She drawled, seeing the Templars in their medical coats jump and turn to look at her, “There's not a chance of you dropping those and running away, is there?” She asked, pretty damn sure there wasn't.

Instead, in a flurry of plasticky noises and fabric, they all drew guns.

“Thought not.” She sighed, looking toward the roof and stepping forward, giving her own whistle. She waded into the fray, throwing bodies and crates among the chaos of bullets. It helped focus her as she rode the glow, the high of her special little friend. And the drugs helped, too. She hadn't noticed her guys were hanging back until Jacob dropped down next to her, gun in hand, managing to headshot most of the Templars down.

“The hell happened to the others, they chicken out?” She asked, looking toward him, dodging a bullet and flinging a box of cabbages at the offender. “Also who stores vegetables in an augment vault?”

Jacob blinked, looking a bit confused at that. He looked a little bit like a puppy when he made that face. Add that to the smeared black on his lips and she could just...gobble him up right now and let Pearlie have whatever was left. Well, not right now. Kinda being shot at right now. Even ol’ Wor Eddie wasn't THAT talented.

That kind of made her sad. She'd been a few hours away by car and hadn't been able to be there for him when he was getting murderated. Nor Ade, either. She'd been completely and utterly useless to the two men she owed her life, her skills, her mild amount of self-esteem to. She ducked out of the way as a bullet whizzed past her ears, grabbing another crate. She threw it into them.

More cabbages.

“Hey Jake?” She called over the din of gunfire, “I feel like we may have been mislead. Bamboozled. Ass-fucked dry with a cactus and no reach around.”

Jacob looked at her, almost incredulously, then started laughing as he was reloading. “You know, Kes, I'm beginning to think you're right.” He managed to get one of them in the kneecap. “You can get us a path out of here, can't you?”

“Does Evie wear crotchless panties to work?” At his shocked look, she sighed, rolled her eyes, “Yes, Jake, and I'm kinda offended you gotta ask.” She reached over as the door burst open. More templars with more guns. Bigger guns. She ducked behind the truck of parts as soon as the first set of bullets sped toward them. “HAX,” She yelled around the edge at them, “I CALL HAX!”

Jacob snickered, “I don't think they care, love.” He pointed out, trying to keep calm despite the crisis. She could tell he was faking, though, that he was scared shitless. The two had had their backs to the wall before, but never like this. More Templars were coming in the other door as well, circling them. “Fuck,” He hissed, “Shit, they have us pinned.”

“I got this,” She volunteered, standing and looking at one of the large crates shielding them from gunfire. One that had potential.

“Kes, are you sure-” Jacob started. Kes grabbed his face in both hands, giving him a long, lingering kiss, making sure he felt it, really felt it, and knew that she knew this was the stupidest thing she had done to date. He kissed her back, leaning into her.

“I got this,” She whispered against his mouth, reluctantly pulling away and standing up, grabbing the crate and throwing. “Jake, _go!_ ” She ordered sharply. He stood there, frozen, as she grabbed another.

Kes felt the burn then, heard a pop in one arm. Blistering pain ran up to her shoulder and she dropped the massive crate backwards, holding her arm.

“Kes-”

“Jacob Friggin Frye, if you don't get out, I'm gonna kick your ass. I'm _fine._ ” Kes jerked her head toward the door, “I can take ‘em!” She turned back to the Templars in front of her, rushing forward. No one with that many guns could be as good hand to hand.

There were six to her one. She pulled back her good fist all the way to east jersey and planted it in a jaw. Then followed that up with a kick she heard make bones snap. And then the pop. Her leg followed the path of her arm. Pain every time she moved. She didn't see or hear Jacob anymore. He must have gotten out.

Good. If anything happened to him…

She felt her shoulder burn and heard the near-silent “thwip” of an anesthetic dart to her back.

“Be careful with her, my darlings,” The low, gritty, raspy voice of Maxwell Roth intoned as her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell, “Ricky’s got big plans for her. Big plans.”


	3. The Accusation and The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob makes it back to the train, and Evie finds him and Lucy about to come to blows; meanwhile, Kes finds herself in the skilled hands of one Templar doctor

Evie did not expect to find Jacob home so soon. Nor find him standing with his pistol pointed at Lucy. She took in the situation a long moment, the Templar standing with her knife pointed toward the Frye brother as well. “What's going on?” She asked, observing that something had gone horribly wrong.

“Your Templar girlfriend led us right into an ambush,” Jacob snarled, hand and voice shaking. Evie noticed a rivulet of blood running down out of the sleeve of his Graverobber coat, dripping off his finger where his arm hung disconcertingly still at his side, “The others all buggered off. And now that bastard Starrick has Kes!”

“I did no such thing,” Lucy snarled back, “My information came from Starrick himself. So, if you have a problem with it, you can take it up with him!”

Jacob's lip pulled back from his teeth in a nearly feral growl, “I will. After I fix what your dodgy information fouled up.” He put his finger against the trigger guard. His armed hand and his voice were both shaking. For one horrifying moment, she was sure he was going to pull the trigger.

Evie stepped between the two of them in a blur. “Both of you, stop,” She demanded, “First and foremost, we have to get Kes back. She's strong, but if Starrick has her. and he breaks her, we're all going to hell in a handbasket.” Her eyes went to her brother, “Jacob. Put the gun down and see if I can get that arm cleaned up for you. Then, we'll see if Miss Attaway or Ned saw them transporting her. Henry, Lucy and I will see about any hiding places they might have.”

Jacob's eyes were fixed, unblinking, on Lucy. Filled with guilt and rage. His finger moved away from the trigger, but he did not lower the gun.

“Jacob,” Evie intoned softly, looking at his eyes, “This isn't going to help find her.”

He took a breath in, lowered the gun, and let out a shaky exhale. Evie heard Lucy sheath her blade.

“Idiot,” The redhead muttered, “If your precious little addict is missing, it's no fault of mine. Maybe you're just not ready to lead all on your own.”

The dark-haired girl put a hand on the redhead’s wrist. “LuLu, why don't you go see about finding where Kes might be hidden. I'll catch up.” Before she could protest, Evie pulled her into a hard, almost bruising kiss, before releasing her and all but shoving her out the door. Then, turned back to her brother. Jacob already had his coat off, thrown across the opposite seat. There was a very deep wound, precise, like he'd run afoul of someone's scalpel, in his shoulder. Evie sighed, taking the arm and raising it, to a hissed curse from her brother.

“Don't be such a baby,” Evie muttered, “Wiggle your fingers for me?” He did, and with great effort did each digit twitch and move. Jacob didn't even look up. “We're going to find her.” She assured softly, “And we'll bounce back, just like we always do.” She sighed, “We can save the arm but I think you'll need new augments. Someone knew what they were doing to pierce _your_ thick hide.”

He gave a weak laugh at that, half a smirk returning to his face, before it faded. In his sweat and grime streaked makeup, he looked tired. Hollowed out. “Lucy was right. This...is my fault. I shouldn't have let her make me leave.” He looked up at his sister.

Evie nodded, setting her jaw, “Tell me what happened,” She said. She couldn't say it wasn't entirely Jacob's fault. Not yet. Something nagged at her though. Something about the job itself. As she went to work piecing together her twin’s arm and the sequence of events, her mind was whirling. She tied off the last of the splint as he whistled at her.

“Earth to Evie, are you listening anymore?” He huffed, “I just bared my guilty soul to you and you're ignoring me. Typical.” He was joking at least. That was a good sign.

Still.

“We don't have time to fool around. You start with Pearl and Ned. I'll go find Henry and we'll start looking for the hideout.” She patted his good arm, “And Jacob...try not to do anything stupid. I'm not going to be the one who explains to Kes why you're a corpse.”

“Your confidence is astounding.” Jacob muttered as she closed the train door behind her.

-

_Ow. My everything._

“Good morning, Miss Miyamoto. Are you feeling all right?” A kindly voice greeted jovially. Kes cracked her eyes open a little to see an older man in a white doctor's coat above her. On his chest was sewn the emblem of the Templars, their garish red cross.

She started to struggle, but her arms simultaneously felt heavy as lead and burned when she tried to use them. “What the fuck...what the fucking fuck…” She was coming off her high, she could feel it. Her eyes began to focus in the darkness. There were two others there.

The first was Rexford Kaylock. A huge man, hulking and intimidating. He had been the first to approach her with a job after she had moved here. It seemed templar repo men and women with graverobber experience and skills were in very high demand. He still had a little bit of that scar where she'd sliced him open with her switchblade to the face. He was smirking way too wide for this to be a good place to be.

The second was the head of the London Templars. Crawford Starrick. He walked toward her and she struggled again against the bonds tying her to the medical table. “Well, well.” He looked down at her, his eyes cold, calculating, “Jacob Frye’s little Jackdaw. Hello again, Miss Miyamoto.”

Kes gave a half-grin, “Qwell Qwell Qwell, if it isn't Nancy Drew,” She rasped, wincing with a grunt as Kaylock planted his fist, hard. in her diaphragm, “‘sup, Ricky?” She asked in a weak voice when she was done gasping.

“Mr. Starrick, please,” The doctor offered, “I would prefer the subject in workable condition before I begin.”

Starrick nodded, “Of course. I apologize. Miss Miyamoto. I have a question before I leave you in Dr. Elliotson’s capable hands. If you answer me, and truthfully, I will allow you to live, comfortably even.” He leaned close, too close, to her. Kestrel’s lips twisted into a frown as she tried to pull away, “Where is the Assassin’s Den in New London?”

She looked at him, at the good doctor. Good butcher was more like. Elliotson might not be a repo doc, but he might as well be. Her eyes drifted a moment to the needle in Starrick’s free hand. It was loaded with a small glass vial, glowing with blue Zydrate. Pure, clear, like the one that hung around Jacob’s neck. She had no doubt if she blabbed, Starrick would give her that hit so fast her head would spin. She was ashamed to say she wanted it more than she wanted to be out of the straps. She was ashamed to say she almost wanted it more than she wanted to stay alive.

Kes thought of Jacob and his lopsided smirk, the way he always held her when she shook with withdrawal jitters. She thought of the way he chuckled into her neck when the two of them sat on one of the couches, strung out and ready to pass out. She thought of his hair between her fingers, the way he liked to whisper “love you,” against her mouth, as if she couldn’t hear the lie passing his teeth. She thought of waking up next to him with the dim light of the clouded sun in her eyes and being okay with that.

Kes thought of Pearl, who would no doubt be implicated in this if she talked. She thought of how Pearl brushed out her hair for her in the morning. She thought of how she smiled when Kes kissed her cheek and pretended that she didn’t feel it when the brunette snuck out the window first thing in the morning some days. She thought of the tycoon’s long, clever fingers laced with hers when she had to dose herself to keep herself sane.

Kes thought of Edward, his tanned face lined with age, the lines only deepened with that big grin of his. She thought of how he stood so tall, so steadfast, eternal with his silver-streaked blonde hair blowing in the sea breeze. She thought of the way he always told her to do what she thought was right and never quit, even if her legs and arms gave out and she had to fucking crawl her way back to them. She thought of him spattered in blood and gurgling as the Templars carved him into bits, and her but hours away.

Kes thought of Ade, stalwart and serious, but always willing to laugh at her when she wanted to be laughed at. She thought of how he put his hand on her shoulder and held her back from a fight when she needed to keep her head. She thought of how he was always willing to listen, and he never betrayed her confidence, even when he probably should have. She thought of him gasping as Shay fucking Cormac carved out his aged heart, put it in a box, and shipped it back to Trinidad and Tobago to be processed for the next patient and her all the way in New London.

“C’mere, Ricky,” She whispered, “I can tell you something.” Starrick leaned close. “No, closer, it’s a secret.” She watched him lean so close she could have bitten his ear off if she wanted to. She took a shuddery breath in. “I DON’T MAKE DEALS WITH TEMPLARS!” She roared, collapsing into helpless giggles as she threw her head back against the table, watching Starrick jerk back, rubbing his pained ear, “Oh my gooood, you should see your face.” She sputtered, before laughing out loud again as he growled.

“As you wish,” He finally said, straightening his clothes, “Doctor, as you were.” He looked down at her, “I did warn you, Miss Miyamoto. You will have no more mercy from me until you talk. I will let Rexford stay and observe, just in case.” He turned on his heel. Stormed out.

Kes sighed, wiggling a little as she looked toward Elliotson, “So, Doc, what’s on the menu for today?” She asked, her grin still on her face, “Waterboarding? Thumbscrews? Ice baths? High voltage?”

Elliotson chuckled, holding up the vial, “First and foremost, Ms. Miyamoto. Withdrawal.”

“Aww, that seems pretty tame.” She lied.

“Only for now. Don’t worry. We will be having much more fun before the night is out.”

“Awesome. I like fun.” Kes looked toward the ceiling, “Gimme your worst, Doc. I can take it.” She closed her eyes. Content to ride the jitters until they told her she was too incomprehensible and gave her some more Z.

The doctor merely chuckled again, shaking his head as he murmured something to Kaylock. It sounded like “scalpel.”

Her eyes opened and she looked down as the big man set both hands on her shoulders. Elliotson seemed to be inspecting the blade of the cruel silver instrument, before looking back at her.

“This may not hurt immediately,” He pointed out, “But, it will hurt. I really must get these ghastly Japanese body augmentations out of you, after all.” His jovial smile turned to a cruel one, “And please, do feel free to scream, if the mood should take you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kes said, looking at the oldschool thing, trying to will away her fear. Her breath became shuddery as she looked toward it heading toward her skin. 

She was three years old again, strapped to a table just like this, hearing Jay scream. She was feeling her flesh cut open so they could wrap her muscles with cords and needles that pumped in ugly stuff that made her ache for days after. She was watching smiling doctors like this one warp her as easily as clay, reaching for the hand of her sister and finding only air. She already smelled chemicals, tasted blood, and Elliotson hadn’t even put the blade to her. Not yet.

She bit the metal gag put into her teeth and looked up at the doctor in front of her. He put his scalpel to her arm and, with surgical precision, yanked open the skin.

And she was ashamed to say she screamed. He was already digging in her muscles with an archaeologist’s zeal, Rexford Kaylock’s hands on her shoulders the only thing keeping her still. Elliotson reached in, pulling cords out, chips and pins, with no apparent cares in the world.

Kes squeezed her eyes shut, head thrown back as the pain truly set in, the Zydrate high crashing down low. She sobbed involuntarily, tears running out her eyes and down blood spattered cheeks as she finally heard, after felt like hours of pulling, of yanking, of cutting and agony in her veins, Elliotson murmur, “There's a good girl. Now. Let's get this closed up.”

There was a clink of metal on the tray beside her, and she panted as Kaylock slowly removed the gag from her teeth. Slowly, Kes’ eyes opened and she turned her head. Long black cords with chips and spikelike pins sat in a tray of water, scraps of her muscle tissue attached still. She looked down at the bloody, almost unusable mass of her arm. She started to laugh, hysterically almost, as the doctor began to stitch her shut, the needle a mere beesting compared to the throbbing ache from her wrist to her shoulder.

She was still laughing when he burnt it shut, saying something about not having her bleed out in the middle of their little chat. Kaylock put the gag in her mouth again.

“Now, to the leg.” Elliotson chuckled. “You are a most amusing subject, Miss Miyamoto. Deep breath in, now. This will sting.”


	4. The Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie has some questions, and Lucy is going to answer them

Evie took a deep breath in, looking toward the rising sun as she gazed upon the stinking city of New London from the rooftops. There had been no word of Kes’ location yet, and it didn't take long to put together that the longer the little Jackdaw spent with Starrick, the more likely it was she would die.

But what troubled her was less the capture itself and more the mission. She looked toward the red-haired Templar as Lucy came up beside her. She had told Evie there would be no more augments for at least six months. That there was no mission. Jacob and Kes had headed out for another raid of the old cemeteries, stripping corpses bare of their bits of Zydrate. They didn't need her help, they had plenty of hands.

“Something wrong?” Lucy asked, her voice having an almost uncharacteristic softness. Evie nodded, looking out toward the horizon.

“You told me that there was no mission,” She said softly, “You told me that there were no more shipments, because we had been making a dent in them.” She saw Lucy pale a little from the corner of her eye, “What really happened, Lucy? And tell me the truth.” The former Templar - was it even a _former_ Templar, she now wondered - sighed quietly and crossed her arms over her chest.

“We should find the little Jackdaw before we talk about this. You’ll be more open to reason when your brother is calmed.”

That was not a good answer. That was an evasion. Lucy never evaded, she always ran ahead and spoke her mind. Except in those rare situations where she gauged the situation not worth her time. A girl being potentially murdered was one of those things worth everyone’s time. Evie looked her in the face.

“That’s not what I asked,” She replied, her voice steady, even as her gloved fist clenched, “Lucy, what is going on? How did Kes end up in that warehouse with my brother and no one else? How did the Templars know how to find them? How were they able to _take_ her when she could have leveled that building and walked out with barely a _scratch?”_ Each question brought her closer to the redhead, Lucy backing herself against the wall of a brick chimney. The redhead’s perfectly painted upper lip curled back from her teeth in a defensive growl, bringing attention to that thin scar just above her mouth, the one Evie loved to kiss before they went to sleep, as they both wished the broken-down metro had thicker walls because they and probably about half of New London could hear her brother and his student going at it.

“I told you, now is not the time to discuss-” Lucy’s voice cut off in a slight choke as Evie pressed her forearm against the other woman’s throat, “Evie. Stop,” She ordered, “Let me explain. This was for your own good.”

“What was?” Evie demanded. Anger simmered in the pit of her stomach. Lucy had lied to her. Walked Jacob into a death trap. Almost killed her flesh and blood and cost them both New London and the Piece of Eden. And it was for her own _good?_ That was...very unlikely, “What was for my own good? Jacob’s blood on your hands?”

“He wasn’t going to die,” Lucy rolled her eyes, choking again for air as Evie ground her forearm in a little more, “I said stop. If you kill me now, you’ll never find Miyamoto in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time to save her.” That loosened Evie’s hold, but only a little, “The plan was for Jacob to walk into a trap and for Roth to take him in. Bring him back over with us, so that the two of you could understand how damn futile what you are doing really is.” Lucy’s eyes grew uncharacteristically soft, “I did all of it to keep you safe. Roth was supposed to kill anyone found with your brother, and that might have included you if I hadn’t kept you out.”

The anger in her went cold with shock, as if someone had dropped a bucket of icy water on her. “You never walked away from Starrick, did you?” Evie questioned, “You sold us out. You...used me to root out the rest of the Graverobbers...and to try to turn me into one of yours…” Her voice was shaking now. She’d been played. Expertly. “You practically gift-wrapped us for Repo training didn’t you?” When Lucy was silent, her forearm pressed back against her windpipe, hard, _**“Didn’t you?!”**_

“No!” Lucy croaked out, “I never sold you out! If I had, do you really think you or any of your accomplices would still be alive?” That loosened the stony hold a little and Lucy slipped her arm up, brushing her fingers against Evie’s cheek, her thumb along the smattering of freckles on her cheekbone, “I used what Starrick had for information in order to try to save you. If he finds out that you have his black market augmentations, you and every Graverobber in the city will be Repo bait, and that is no lie. Unless. You turn to us. And then I and Maxwell would be able to protect you…” She trailed off, “Kestrel wasn’t supposed to be involved. She was certainly never expected to sacrifice herself…” She sighed, “Evie, let me go. I can help you find her.”

All of it sunk in. Lucy had taken away her choice in this. Lucy had taken away her independence in this mission and someone might die because of it. Evie pushed herself away, looking over the rooftops of New London, where the sky was lightening and the chemical smoke was already starting to rise from factory chimneys. She felt the tears starting down her cheeks. Lucy had tried to turn her into what she hated and never once even tried to consult her about it; and worse, she’d planned on turning over Jacob to Maxwell Roth. A monster of a man who ran every hired gun, every false security, in the city. A man who preyed, did not not offer kindness. A man who would have broken her brother.

Evie wiped the tears away. “Normally, Miss Thorne, I would have told you that you had done enough and told you to get out of my sight.” Lucy stiffened, her back straight, but Evie could see the hurt on her face, “But, for this, I need you. So, you will show Henry Green and I the last place they told you they would be taking Jacob. After that, you are to leave. And never, ever seek me out again. Our alliance is ended.” She turned, looking upon the red-haired woman, “You are no longer welcome around the Rooks, myself, or any of the other Graverobbers in the city. And make no mistake, they will _all_ know not to trust you, or anyone who wears your face. Is that clear enough for you?”

“You still need me to find the Piece of Eden,” Lucy spat, her voice stronger, venomous, as she rubbed her throat, “You won’t get anywhere without me, Evie.”

“I will do what I did before you. I’ll manage. Now, lead the way. Henry will meet us there.”


	5. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kestrel is visited by her old mentor and given the very best of Templar hospitality

_“Kes. Kes, open your eyes, lass.”_

Kestrel felt heavier than she had in years, like she was weighed down with heavy lead on every limb. She was crashing, and hard. She felt her stomach turn and she leaned forward, vomiting. At some point, they’d turned her vertical. She didn’t know if it had been three hours or three days. Finally, she stopped, feeling a cool hand on her forehead.

 _“There’s my girl. Get all the evil out of ye, aye?”_ She looked up, seeing Ed. Old Wor Eddie. Standing in full Graverobber dress, the Jackdaw proud on the patch on his shoulder, his makeup spot on, despite his age. He’d never much approved of it, but Thatch had said a face like death would scare off any living man as fast as he could look at it, _“Got yourself in a bit of a pickle again.”_

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Kes rasped out, leaning into his touch, “We’ve been...in worse scrapes than this. I can’t think of any right now, but…” She stopped, shook her head, and it hurt to move, “No. No, this is wrong. You’re dead.”

 _“And where do you think you are?”_ He laughed at her now, pinching her cheek, _“About half-dead. All that shit you’ve been shooting finally catching up.”_ He sighed, laughter ceasing as a little of his hair fell into his eyes, _“Poor thing. Poor, poor thing. All trussed up like a Christmas Goose.”_

“Templar...hospitality.” She snickered back, looking at his body, at the blood starting to seep through. She grimaced, starting to pull back as the smell seeped in. Death and blood and the sea. Like that old shark the first time they’d hooked it up from the depths. She looked up at his eyes, “I miss you.”

 _“Missed you, too. But, we’ll be back together soon, won’t we?”_ He leaned toward her, _“You could’ve come back with me, you know. Stolen a train, run back up to Swansey. Could’ve been some kind of family, you and me and Jenny and Haytham. Could’ve been there to watch my back when these damned Templars finally caught up with me.”_

Kes shook her head with a moan, “No...no, I couldn’t. You sent me here to learn.”

 _“And look where we are. You either die and come to hell with me and Ade...or you give up what little bit of humanity you have left. You turn the others in. Get some more of that Z you keep pushing in your veins.”_ Now, his closed hand circled her throat, _“You should’ve flown with me, with the rest of the Jackdaws. But you ran off. You ran away. You_ stayed _away.”_

Kes’ eyes stung, “Not on purpose!”

 _“I was six hours away, lass! You could have come there at any time!”_ He leaned in close and she could smell his breath. She threw up, again, her body shaking, _“I took you in when the_ yakuza _wanted you dead! Little scrap of nothing I could have thrown over the side as easy as chum!”_

“I know…”

_“I taught you to live, to fight, to give yourself a fucking chance! I gave you a life with a gang much more stable than mine, with a way to topple these damn Templars and what did you do with it?! You turned your back on me as good as if you’d stabbed the scalpel there yourself!”_

“I KNOW!” She wailed, “I know, I know, I know! I should’ve been there, I should’ve saved you, and goddamnit, I’m gonna die knowing that!” She was really crying now, chills running through heavy limbs, making her bruises explode in agony, “It should’ve been me who died, not you...not you…”

Edward looked down his nose at her, curled his lip, and turned her head back up to his, _“Listen to me, and listen to me good. Do one good thing in your fucking life. Quit your fucking wailing. You’re a Jackdaw, you act like it. You keep your mouth shut, and you don’t let what happened to me happen to anyone else. Do you understand?”_

She whimpered, nodded.

 _“Good. Then. You die and I’ll make sure you make amends for every one of these they made on me,”_ He pulled aside his shirt, what looked like thousands of cuts on his ghostly skin, _“And then, maybe, if you can handle that, we’ll have something to say to each other.”_ He faded away as the door opened.

Kes hung her head, shaking and crying. She felt like vomiting again, but there was nothing in her stomach. _I should be dead, I should be the one who’s dead. How am I still alive? Why am I still alive?_

_Everyone else takes the fall for you._

Kes saw them in her mind’s eye. Her mother. Jay. Edward. Ade. Jacob.

No.

Not Jacob.

“Where is the Graverobber Den,” Kaylock demanded.

“Up your ass,” Kes spat back, a fist in her ribs for her trouble. She clenched her teeth.

“Who is helping them transport their Zydrate?”

She felt the doctor put her head in water, icy cold, before he brought her back up to answer.

“Big guy...red suit...white beard…they call him Nick...”

Elliotson was not impressed, cutting her muscles, her tendons, so she couldn’t run away. She screamed, blood and bone ripped apart and put back together.

“Where. Are. The Graverobbers?”

Kes looked toward Starrick and did exactly what a Jackdaw would do. She laughed in the face of death, even as Elliotson pulled another of her fingernails out. She laughed until she cried, covered in blood and sick and pain.

“You are only making this harder on yourself, Miss Miyamoto. Simply tell Mr. Starrick what it is he wants to know…”

“Come on, Doc, is that...the best you’ve got?”

She looked up, seeing them standing just over Kaylock’s shoulder. Edward with his arms crossed over his chest, a welcoming smirk on his lips. Ade, watching her with calm, serious eyes, blood seeping through his jacket.

Elliotson looked toward where she was staring, chuckling, “Your guilt won’t save you now, Kestrel. They’re not real. They never have been. You killed them, remember? You killed them for a touch of that London high and a safe skin. You never knew love because you are a weapon, not a person.”

“Suck my dick.”

Elliotson backhanded her, but she looked back toward Ed and Ade.

 _“That’s my girl,”_ Edward intoned again.

 _“Try not to lead with your mouth next time,”_ Ade offered, holding out a hand to her, _“Just reach out, Kestrel. You’ll be here before you know it.”_

Kes closed her eyes. “No,” She growled, “No. I’m gonna see him again. I’m...gonna tell him...how I want him to put me down…” She looked up as Kaylock put another brass-knuckles covered fist in her stomach, making her spit blood, “And I’m gonna tell him to tell Pearlie I love her.”

“Love?” Elliotson sneered, “You are a pure narcissist, the only one you ever loved is yourself..”

“Don’t...interrupt me…” She rasped out, “It’s rude. Ade hates it when old white guys like you are fucking rude.” She spat in Elliotson’s face. She felt her head hanging, heavy, for what must have been hours before the door creaked open.

“Hello, my broken little bird,” Roth purred, raising her head up.

“Hey Max,” She greeted weakly, “How's the kids?”

He laughed, shaking his head, “That’s why I like you Kes, always a smart remark, always some kind of sass to spit out…” He smirked, “How much did Pearlie know about what you do, anyway?” He watched the color drain out of her face, laughing, “Don’t worry, Ricky doesn’t dare hurt her. Still loves her too much; fairly romantic if you ask me. Did she know you’re a filthy graverobber, love?”

“Usually tried to wash first. Pearlie hates when I go over dirty.” She spit, blood or vomit she didn’t know and she didn’t care, “You don’t hurt her either. Or let Lucy do it. Or I’ll claw my way out of the little pine box they put me in, out of hell, and come find you.”

Roth shook his head, “Just like Edward, you are. Mad as a dog and revel in it...just like me.” He grabbed her hair, turning her head back, “You weren’t supposed to fall into our little trap, darlin’. You were supposed to run off with the others when you saw us come in. If it had been my idea, Jacob would be right here, spread all pretty for me. Might still be, when you break.”

Kestrel snickered, “Sure,” She looked down her nose at him, “Sure you will. And then Cardigan will be Grandmaster and the sky will clear up and all the Repo Men and Women will burn spontaneously because of what they did.”

“Ooooo, little bite still in the old girl yet…” He ran a hand down her cheek, lovingly, as if he were a brother. She shuddered turned away, “We could have been great pals, you and me. Turned this city on its head, and shared Frye between us. I wager you’ve enough boy in you to keep even me entertained. You’d have made a great Repo girl, Kestrel Miyamoto. We still could be, if you play your cards right.” He leaned in close, “Whisper it, in my ear. Where the Assassin Den is. And you and me can be the greatest pair of gangsters to run New London since the Organ Failing.”

He leaned his head against hers, the way she leaned on Jake when she was tired, the way Eddie used to let her lean on him when she crashed too hard. Her eyes closed and she tried to will away the stink of herself and the room around her; of antiseptic and filth all in one. She tried to go back to her place in her mind, the Jackdaw under her feet with Edward at the helm, Ade beside him, Jacob and Pearlie on deck waiting for her order. She couldn’t get there. Couldn’t feel the sea on her skin, smell the salt in her nose, couldn’t see the sunlight of the Caribbean. She saw herself with a Templar crest on her chest, more Z than she could take in a lifetime, Jacob wrapped up in leather in her room, waiting for her.

He’d hate her for it. She leaned her head against Roth’s, smelled his cheap pomade and cologne, his sweat on his skin. She sighed, opened her eyes. “Okay,” She murmured, “Okay. I’ll whisper it in your ear. Really twist my arm.” She tittered, “Get it? Because Doc fucked me up so much.”

Roth chuckled himself, “Jokes, jokes, jokes. One of the things I like about you, little KesKes.”

“Only people who kiss me on the mouth get to call me KesKes.”

“Oh-ho?” Roth looked at her eyes from the corner of his, “Tell me what I want to know, and I can make that happen.”

Kes grinned, “Try to kiss me, you mad dog, and I’m gonna fucking feed you your lips,” She whispered in his ear, a little bit of Swansea coming out, though she wasn’t surprised, “And you’re not gonna _touch_ Jacob. Or they’ll find you smeared from here to Nassau.” As he tried to pull away, she bit into the skin of his ear, as hard as her jaws would hold. She was a little disconcerted to hear a sexual little moan escape him.

“Where’s the Den, love?” He demanded, laying a fist, hard, into her already bruised ribs. She didn’t release him but to pull a little, gagging at the smell and taste of his skin in her teeth, “Tell me and you can fight me from now until kingdom come.”

She closed her eyes and snickered, “I...got no strings...to hold me down…” She sang around the ear in her mouth, “...to make me fret...or make me frown…” She let him go, leaning back and laughing as he grabbed her around the throat, “I had strings...but now I’m free…” She leaned forward as far as she was able, eyes on his, cold and murderous as she pulled on the shackles holding her in, “There are...no strings...on me…” She drove her forehead into his, hard enough, she was sure, to at least jostle him. “Go to hell, you fucking shitbird, and take your fucking Templars and your Repo Men with you.”

Roth stared in shock at her for a long few minutes, before laughing, rubbing the soon-to-be bruise in his forehead, “And I’ll see you there, Kestrel.”


	6. The Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a week and a half, the Jackdaw girl is finally found

A week and a half. The others were starting to give up hope. And he couldn’t say he blamed them. Jacob felt drawn thin, worn, empty inside and not just because he’d kept the needles out of his veins for so long. He looked toward his sister.

Lucy had said this was the place.

Lucy had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

The bowels of Lambeth Asylum in Old London was a horrifying spectre. Supposedly burnt down during the Organ Failing by her residents, it was supposed to be abandoned, the roof caving in and the walls crumbling. But, apparently, it was less abandoned than previously expected.

Evie stood against one wall, her jaw set and her hood over her face. Her makeup had been reapplied with precision. Flawless, as always. Beside her was Henry Green, the only one able to dig up enough about this place to guide them. And Kes was his friend as well, their shadow leader, for she fed him old Jackdaw tricks and yakuza teachings to make their gang a greater force to be reckoned with. Behind him, Ned Wynert, the king of the old metro line. The only one able to get them here and out without them being flooded with templars. Kes’ favorite trafficker.

_I’m coming to get you out, love. I’m here._

He’d seen her abandoned before, he’d seen her lost and hurt by everyone else but him and Pearl. He’d promised himself he would never, ever let her suffer alone again. He’d broken that promise, and he aimed to rectify that. Jacob looked toward Evie, who nodded toward the roof. They could get in there and all but drop down to the basement. He nodded to the front door. Ned was small, but he was still too big to be carried. And he didn’t have the same acrobatics they did; good, but not that good. Evie nodded.

They went into the building, left shockingly unguarded. Jacob frowned. This wasn’t right. This was all kinds of wrong.

“Places like this usually this quiet?” Ned asked quietly, crouched beside him, putting his hand to the pistol in his coat.

“Never. Not with a high-profile case like this. There should be at least a half-dozen Templars on each floor.” Jacob put his hand on his own gun, “I smell a rat, and her name is Thorne.” He gulped, “I swear, if Kes isn’t here-”

“Keep it in the holster until we get this place cased,” Ned murmured, putting his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, “We’re gonna find her.”

He nodded, and down they went.

The asylum itself seemed almost pleasant on the top floors. Underneath, it was a glorified dungeon. Evie dropped down beside Jacob from one of the beams, Henry beside her. “Something is wrong,” Green murmured, “Not a single templar or guard anywhere?”

“We were thinking the same thing, Greenie,” Jacob agreed, looking at Evie, “Only one way to find out if we’re in the right place.”

“I know she’s lied before, but Lucy wouldn’t lie about this. Not when her own skin depends on it.” Evie bit her bottom lip, “All right, go on.”

He nodded, not objecting this time. He didn’t need to hear from his already shaky sister how her ex, who had betrayed them multiple times, couldn’t possibly do it again. “KES!” He yelled, as loud as his lungs could carry the name, “KESTREL!”

It echoed, and he felt a sinking feeling in his heart as it began to die out. _Please. Please let this be the right place. I can’t take another false start. I can’t lose her…_

“Jake?” Her voice was a shout, but it was weak, raspy, in pain. “Jake? Are...are you really…?”

He ran, not even caring that the door was open, no locks or traps on it. He ran to her as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. And was nearly bowled over by the sight and smell of her. She was a mass of stitches and lumpy scars, muscles that had been ruined and marred under her skin. Her face and her skin was bruised, cut, sewn back together. And the smell...someone had cleaned the room, minimally, but there was blood everywhere, the coppery tang mixing with the thick smell of vomit and the crisp scent of antiseptic. She was shackled to one stone wall, barely struggling, looking up through bloodied lashes at him.

She looked so weak, so tired. “Kes, oh god.” He put his hand over his mouth for a moment, before grabbing one of the scalpels, “Let me get you down from here.” He reached up, picking the lock with the thin blade as he heard Evie gasp. “Help me get her down.” He ordered, tears stinging his eyes. She was hurt so bad, and it was his fault, “Evie, please, don’t just...just fucking stand there!” His sister stood at his side almost as soon as the words left his lips, working on her ankles and jerking back. “Easy, easy, slow…” Jacob lowered Kestrel into his arms. She was shaking, like she was freezing.

He wrapped her up in his coat, “Kes, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here.” He kissed her forehead, feeling it cold, clammy, sweat beading upon it. She was breathing, but it was labored, raspy, “We’re gonna get you home, get you cleaned up. But, you’ve gotta stay awake for me, all right?”

Kes gave a small, hazy grin, “I...I was wondering when you’d get here,” She leaned her head against his chest, tears in her eyes, “I’m not-not scared...to die, Jacob…”

“You’re not going to die,” He insisted around the lump in his throat, “You’re _not._ I’m gonna save you.” His breath caught in a shaky almost sob as he brought it in, “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m...I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.”

“Shhhh,” She reached up, bloodied thumb brushing a tear from his cheekbone, “Shhh, it’s okay. I told you to go.” She hissed, “I told you to run.” She closed her eyes, “They...they’re looking for the den. I didn’t tell them where to find us.”

“I know. I know. You’d never give us up.” He gave a weak laugh, “Evie was afraid they were going to break you.” He stopped, seeing her eyes start to close, “Kes...Kes, please. Stay with me. Stay here.” He held her tighter, “Kestrel…?” He leaned his forehead against hers. His student. His runner. His Graverobber. His Jackdaw, “KesKes…? I love you. I love you so much it hurts to breathe. Please...please-please-please, just stay with me…I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll-I’ll take you with me on every mission, I’ll give you as much Z as you want. We’ll get a ship, a real ship, and you, me and Pearl can go sailing whenever you want.” He gave a weak laugh, “We can sail to Trinidad and kill that bastard Shay Cormac. And we’ll pay our respects to Ade, and Edward. But, you have to stay. Please.” He felt his chest tighten, his heart ache.

“Jacob,” Evie reached out to touch his shoulder, her own eyes filled with tears.

“Kes, please.” He whimpered again, “Please, just...just stay…”

Kes’ eyes opened just a little as she brushed another tear away. “Don’t...don’t let them put me in the ground. Please, I hate the thought of being buried.”

“Never.”

Her labored breathing was slowing, but it sounded no easier for her, “Make sure Pearlie...Pearlie knows I love her…?”

“Of course,” He sniffed, “Of course she does.”

“...love you, too, Jake.” Kes smiled weakly, “Always have. Always will.” She leaned back against his chest, “‘ve gotta go home now, though. Edward’s got a new Jackdaw he’s sailing and he needs me.”

“Kes, please, no!” His voice was a wail, “No, I need you. _I_ need you!”

Her hand fell away. “No…” His voice was a whisper, turning to a sob as he buried his face in her neck where it met her shoulder, “Kes, no...please...please, come back…” He pulled back, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, “Please, don’t go.”

Evie had turned into Henry’s body, her own soft sobs coming from in his shirt where she had hidden her face. Henry’s face was pressed to her hair. Ned looked away, his jaw tight, a few tears falling from under the frame of his glasses down his cheeks. His fists were clenched as Jacob hid his face against her neck, rocking back and forth with the loud sobs he couldn’t stop, as if his wailing would bring her back. Would call her home to where she needed to be, where she was needed and wanted.

Slowly, on shaky legs, he stood, her body wrapped in his coat still. Jacob looked toward them, and saw their faces, as haunted and desolate as he was sure his was. He looked down at her and closed her eyes for her.

 _“Resquiat in pace,”_ He whispered, thumb brushing her cheekbone, “I hope Edward keelhauls you for being gone so long,” He gave a weak, watery chuckle, before looking toward Evie, “We need to go.” They had to make arrangements. Most of the time, Graverobbers were put in huge cement blocks and buried, buried so deep their bodies couldn’t be defiled by other gangs, or Templars.

 _“Don’t let them put me in the ground.”_ She’d begged. So, he wouldn’t. His mind was already coming up with an idea of what to do for her.

Ned folded her hand against her chest where it hung limply, helping them into the train. Jacob put her against one of the seats, stroking her hair out of her closed eyes. It was so long now, like she’d known she was meeting her dead father figure and wanted to wear it the same way he did. His thumb touched her cold cheek, her bottom lip, and he felt the tears start again.

“I love you,” He whispered, for all those times he’d smothered it. She’d never considered herself worthy of love, starting arguments every time he’d told her he loved her back. “I love you,” He whispered again, pulling his hand back, “And I promise, I’m going to gut every Templar and Repo Man involved in this, until you can rest.” He gave a weak smile to her, as if she were just sleeping, not…

Not…

“Jacob…?” Evie’s voice was soft behind him as she stepped up to his shoulder, “There are no words for how sorry I am. Absolutely none.” She put her hand very gently on his arm. As if afraid he would jerk away from her, “And I know this is at least partly my fault for bringing Thorne with us-”

“No,” Jacob sniffed, wiping his nose and his eyes, “No, it was my fault. Lucy lied to me and I wasn’t smart enough to see until it was too late.” He looked toward her and gave a weak laugh, “Just like you, the responsible one, always taking the burden onto yourself. But, she was...she was my responsibility. I should’ve been looking out for her.”

Evie looked up at him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in in a tight hug. She breathed in a shaky inhale, and let it out in a sob. He held onto his sister for stability as his legs threatened to give out again. “I’m going to miss her,” She confessed, “It’s going to be a much darker day without Kestrel Miyamoto in the world…” She trailed off, “Have you figured out how you’re going to tell Pearl?”

He shook his head. He just knew it had to be soon.


	7. The Aftermath and the News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Pearl both learn of Kestrel's passing

Lucy sat in the holding cell Evie had picked out for her, looking toward the wall that she had been staring at for half an hour. When she heard the train pull in, however, she looked up toward the door. Luckily, holding was right beside the front door, for easier guarding. She looked toward the procession that walked through the broken train that served as their den. Henry first, followed by Wynert. Then Evie, still crying. Lucy’s heart sank as she looked toward the brunette. “What happened?” She asked. No, really demanded, “Was she there?”

If Starrick had moved her, then they could be in real trouble.

Evie turned and looked to her with a glare that could crack stone as her brother walked in, holding his coat around a bundle. A very small one, but Lucy could see skinny little legs with half-destroyed sneakers. It was too still to be a living body. “Yes,” Evie said in a tight voice, “Yes, we found her.” She looked toward Jacob, whose makeup seemed to have worn off in tear tracks as well. Evie threw open the door with a quick flick of the lock and grabbed Lucy by the arm.

Lucy’s feet had never stumbled when approaching a dead body before. Now, she had to be nearly shoved forward, seeing the smallest Graverobber lying dead. She looked as if Elliotson and Kaylock had been given free reign over her. Evie pointed. “You did this,” She accused, her tears of mourning turning to tears of rage, “You did this to her, and you would have done this to Jacob, too!”

“Evie-”

“Don’t. You ‘Evie’ me. Look at her.” Evie grabbed the back of her neck, forcing Lucy’s face close, “Look at her body and know that her blood is on your hands, too.” She released the redhead, “Get out of here.”

Lucy stepped back, “Wh-”

“I said get out. I’m done with you. We’ll be moving in the morning, and you won’t be able to find us anymore.” The dark-haired Frye sister looked upon the Templar she had let into her life, her heart, her bed, and growled, “Get out,” Through clenched teeth.

“She wasn’t supposed to get involved…” Lucy murmured, “She was supposed to-”

“I don’t give a damn if she was supposed to put on a dress and dance the damn pavane with God and the Prince Consort themselves! She’s dead! Now, get out!” Evie pointed to the door accusingly, “I said get out, or I promise, I’ll kill you myself. Then, have Aleck bring you back. And let Jacob have his go!”

Lucy curled her lip, “You’re overreacting,” She murmured, “Kestrel was a footsoldier. I did this to keep you safe.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy listening to you dig your own grave,” Jacob murmured, uncharacteristically quietly, “But, will you _please_ take this outside? I would very much like to be alone for a few minutes before I have to announce to everyone I know and care about that the woman I love is dead.”

Evie looked to her brother and nodded, grabbing Lucy’s arm and marching her out onto the street. And marched her further still, out of the old metro station toward the new apartments near the West End, where she stopped. “Kestrel. Was not just a footsoldier.” She finally snarled out, “She was our student, our friend, and the woman I’m sure Jacob would have taken to wife.”

“No accounting for taste.” Lucy spouted off, before catching Evie’s fist to her jaw.

“She may have been hooked, but she was stronger, sweeter, kinder, and she had more honor in her than you ever will.” Evie looked at her as the rain started, cool, cleansing rain, “I...let you lead me, almost to ruin. I let you almost kill my brother. I let you kill the woman who would be my sister. I’m not letting you do anything else to us. So, you can...can run back to Starrick.” She felt as if her heart were being torn in two, as if she had to wrench two sides of herself apart, “You go back to him, and you tell him what you’ve done. What you’ve delivered. And you tell him we’re coming for him…” She trailed off, wiping her tears away, “That’s the only mercy you’ll get. The next time we meet, Lucy Thorne, you’re going to end up six feet under. Do you understand?”

Lucy was quiet, staring, the water and wind pulling strands of her hair down and sticking them to her face. Her shock was palpable as the thunder began, lightning cracking across the sky.

“I asked if you understand,” Evie said quietly, barely audible above the noise of the storm.

“Yes, I understand,” Lucy raised her chin, “I understand you’re acting like a naive child. But, I also understand that you will, eventually, understand what I was trying to do.” She looked toward Evie’s eyes, “I love you, Evie Frye. And I won’t see you hurt.” She gave a small, knee-weakening smirk, “We will see each other again.” She turned, walking away, disappearing into the black.

Evie ground her teeth, giving a roar to the sky for Lucy’s arrogance, her own stupidity, and their loss. She ran to the rooftops, starting to run away, just run, for once trying to clear her head. She felt the rain lighten to a drizzle, the storm calming, and she heard the voice for the first time. Soft, sweet, clear as a bell.

_“For I  
I am a captured bird.  
I cry  
Cry for the pain endured  
For I’m in love with you…”_

She stopped, crouched on the roof, listening, and it seemed to soothe her, at least for the moment.

_“You are the ocean  
And I am the shoreline  
Nothing can keep us apart.  
Your love consumes me  
All fear eludes me  
I’d die to be close  
To your heart…_

_Oh_

_Oh, we  
We lie side by side  
Like trees  
Two trees intertwined  
Together this night…”_

Evie closed her eyes, sitting now with her knees to her chest, her eyes closed with her hood over her face, listening to that sweet voice. Thinking of Lucy and her betrayal and letting it slowly wash away.

_“Oh I  
I have a secret love  
We hide  
Hide from the jealous sun  
Until soldiers come  
Until the soldiers come.”_

-

It was the dead of night and someone was knocking on Pearl’s door. Which meant it was probably Kestrel. The girl had a bad habit of being gone for some time and then coming home at all hours. Sliding on her robe and slipping a few locks of her hair behind her ear, she crept to the stairs, down them, and took a moment to compose herself before putting her hand on the knob. Kestrel should never know that she was rattled, obviously. The Graverobber had a great deal to worry about already.

It might be Jacob, she realized. It had been some time since Jacob had come to her door without calling upon her first, but, after Roth had arrived and searched the place top to bottom for refugees, nothing would shock her anymore. She did smile a little. Perhaps it was both of them, and she could feel her bed full again, as it had not been for some time.

She cleared her throat, sobered her face and slowly opened the door, looking toward the young man on her doorstep. Jacob looked...shocked. As if he couldn’t believe he was here himself. He had his hands held out before him, and they seemed sticky with some rusty red substance that she didn’t want to think about. And then there was the smell, the smell emanating from the jacket he was wearing. Blood and sick and a little bit of antiseptic, like he had just held someone right out of surgery and they had exploded over him.

“Jacob,” She murmured, softly, “Come inside, please,” She motioned him in, and he moved like a wooden doll, “What happened? Are you hurt?” She started to look him over, but he turned his face away at the last minute with a shuddery breath.

“I’m fine,” He murmured softly, “Pearl, we...we have to talk. About Kes.” He looked down at her, “Something...has happened and…” His voice was choked, and her heart thudded in her ribs, the color draining from her face.

“What about Kestrel? Is she alright? Is she just...just sleeping off a Zydrate high somewhere?” She tried to make her voice light. Airy. Tried to get him to smile, even a little.

Jacob didn’t smile. He almost didn’t look at her. “Kes...Kes is dead. She died today.” His eyes were steady on hers, “She...she ended up in a Templar den and...and their doctors tortured her. Took her Zydrate from her.” He took a small gulp in, “Died in my arms.” He reached out for her hands.

Pearl sat all at once on her armchair, staring blankly straight ahead. She felt as if some of her had been cut out. She saw in her mind’s eye Kestrel’s reckless little smile, the way her eyes shone and heard her laughing over some stupid joke. She felt Kes against her side as they slept, burrowed into her body, warm and safe. Felt the soft kiss to her cheek as the girl snuck out the window.

“It was my fault,” Jacob whispered, “We got some...some bad information...and I charged in anyway. I got her captured.” He put his hands on hers, “She...she told me...to tell you that she loved you. To make sure you knew.” He swallowed, “The funeral is in a week, as soon as we can arrange it. She would want you to be there.”

Pearl was silent, still staring straight ahead, before the words really hit her. _It was my fault._

“Get out.” She whispered, hands shaking, “Get out of my house, Jacob Frye or so help me…”

She was already crying, her voice shaking. She could only imagine what Crawford and his high-paid monsters could do to Kestrel. She looked into Jacob's shocked face, green-hazel eyes wide, mouth agog. No, she didn't think he had ever seen her in such a state.

“GET OUT!” She yelled in a voice that could only be described as a shriek, “AND DON'T YOU OR YOUR _FILTHY **GRAVEROBBERS**_ EVER COME DARKEN MY DOOR AGAIN!”

He stood, still staring at her. Her vision blurred as she grabbed for a small object to fit into her hand. One of the heavy silver torques Kestrel had crafted found its way to her palm and she threw as hard as her arm could muster.

She heard it hit the wall and he was gone. Her hands covered her face and she curled up in a shaky ball, her long dark hair covering her in a blanket of sorts as she sobbed. She wailed as if she was a mere child again, unwilling or unable to move from her chair and go back to bed. It would feel empty anyway. Full of ghosts and memories, but lacking comfort.

Jacob sat against her chimney, looking out, out toward the Thames with eyes that could muster no more tears tonight. He looked at his hands, his bloodied hands, and felt the rain trying to wash them clean. They would never feel right again, he knew. His previously injured arm still ached and he was acutely aware that he was losing feeling in those fingers whether from exertion or cold he didn't know. And he didn’t care.


	8. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rooks travel to Wales to see off one of their own

Ned let them take the train up to Swansea and back, to get everything started. He even pulled through for an old refrigerated car, which he had fixed up within a day and stuffed so full of ice there was barely room for the body. To keep her from rotting away.

Evie did a lot of the work with the funeral itself, especially getting in touch with Jennifer Scott. Jennifer was Kenway’s blood-daughter, a neutral party after the deaths of her parents and half-brother. She and Kes had been very close when Kestrel was a child. Jacob had to hang up on her when the tears started. Evie took it from there.

All of the Rooks who could make it went. They resolved to sleep on the train until the funeral itself so as not to draw suspicions from the local Templars. Luckily, none of them had put together about the trains yet. Pearl didn't come with and Jacob honestly couldn't blame her.

His arm was getting worse. He could only feel three out of five fingers now. Aleck said they would probably have to take it off at the shoulder and give him a prosthetic if he insisted on continuing to use it. Jacob insisted on continuing to use it. He rode in the main car most of the time, trying to train it back up to strength as they rumbled out of England and up into Wales. Every day, a little more of his arm's skill slipped away. Every night, a little more of his sleep slipped away and he woke earlier.

They reached Swansea in a few days, to find Ms. Scott waiting for them. She was a few years older than Pearl, one or two strands of silver in her vibrant red hair. She had the same blueish eyes as Edward, however, Jacob recognized that. She was dressed for comfort, not style, though she still managed to make the thick woolen sweater and black jeans look fashionable. She wore the barest touch of makeup on her face, human tones rather than the Graverobber death mask.

“Can I see her?” She asked softly, a bare whisper of Welsh burr to her voice, “Please?”

Jacob stepped aside for her, one of the younger robbers taking her back. He didn't hear sobbing or wailing, looking at Henry, who seemed to be inspecting boxes for something. Maybe he was just avoiding Jacob. A lot of people had been doing that lately, and he didn't exactly blame them. Evie came out with Jenny at her side, the older woman slower, wiping tears away.

“I hope you plan on getting the bastards that did this,” She stated fiercely, “She didn't deserve that. Kes was a lot of things, but she didn't deserve…” She fiercely wiped her tears away.

“I'm going to kill them.” Jacob intoned. He thought of sleeping last night. How he'd dreamed this was just a nightmare and he'd rolled over to her on the bunk next to him and kissed her senseless, waking to empty arms and a broken heart again. He thought of the fear in her eyes when she'd begged not to be buried, how he'd begged her only to stay, wanting her to keep breathing so they didn't have to be here. He thought of Evie, in the bunk below him, still trying to reconcile any involvement she might have had in tears and whispered apologies.

For that, they'd all die.

“Good,” Jenny replied, her voice tight, suppressing a world of rage in that one word, “Good. Come on, then, let's get ready. I already had the Undertaker make the coffin, as requested…” She paused, “You sure you don't want him to take a look at her? See what they can do?”

“Thank you, Ms. Scott,” Evie murmured, before Jacob could pop off as he so desperately wanted to, “We have most of this in hand…” She looked at her brother, “If you like, may we see the grave put up for your parents? To pay our respects?”

“Of course. And the lot of you will not be staying in that drafty old train car. I have plenty of room for all of you back home.” Jennifer's eyes alighted on the fridge car, “And a good table for her to be...prepared on.”

He kept his mouth shut as they walked up the way from the train station, Kes’ body carefully hidden away in an ice filled chest to keep her cool and keep them from drawing attention. When the boys started to take her inside, Evie put her hand to his wrist and gently tugged him toward the small family cemetery Jennifer indicated.

“Come on,” She murmured, “Savin and Henry know what they're doing. They'll take care of it.” Evie looked at him and put her hand in his, as if they were children again, “You look like hell. When was the last time you slept?”

He gave a small smirk, “You don't look the star of the county down yourself, Miss Frye,” He teased as they stopped before the stones. One for Caroline Scott, next to her husband, Edward Kenway. He crouched before it, looking over it to where it faced the sea. “Mr. Kenway. You old, salty bastard.” He greeted, a weak laugh escaping, “What the hell were you thinking?”

A sea breeze blew through his hair, blowing hard, blowing his hat off. Evie snickered. “I don't think he likes you talking to him that way,” She chided, kneeling beside him and brushing a few of the dried strands of grass off of the stone.

“They're dead, Evie, what do they care?”

“They still deserve respect. Now, are you going to get your hat, or no?”

Jacob grumbled, following the trail his cap had taken down to the very rocks next to the water. He stood on one, taking a breath in and holding it before letting it out. The water was gray and choppy, but the sound of the waves was soothing enough. The sun on the water seemed to make it sparkle like a rare jewel, and the smell of cleanish air and salt water made him feel...a little better.

He ran his fingers through his hair, watching the waves a little longer. He could get used to this, the sea and the shore line. He could understand why Edward was loathe to leave riding the waves behind and why Kestrel missed even the chance to work the Thames, for just a hint of this.

There was a soft set of footsteps behind him. “Lovely, isn't it?” Jennifer asked, pulling her sweater more fully around her, “As a child, I loved the sea. I loved the idea of pirates and fair maidens and buried treasure. Now, it seems like a distant memory, those happy days.” She gave a small smile, “You're quieter than she said you would be.”

He blinked. “Who?”

“Kes. She wrote me about a month ago, after word got back to her about Ade. She...laid out how she wanted me to help with the funeral, if anything happened. And she warned me you would be a sobbing wreck.” Her smile turned sad, “She was a good girl. Little wild, maybe, but who can blame her?” She sniffed.

Jacob looked back out to the sea. He wanted to jump into it, to sink straight down and look up to see only her hands pulling him to her body. He couldn't stand the cloying kindness, but he knew she would want him to be nice to Jennifer. He resolved to nod quietly, before excusing himself and heading back up the hill.

\- 

Savin was an artist in shabby Turkish clothing. His makeup was always more intricate than everyone else's, true, but when it came to what really mattered, sometimes he could give himself a restrained elegance.

He had done that for Kestrel. They brought the body to the shoreline in the special coffin, lined with oil with no lid. Her body, which had been mangled, was laid correctly with her hands folded onto her chest, her gun in her left hand and a fist full of Zydrate vials in her right as all Graverobbers did. She was dressed in some clothes Jennifer had been saving, and Jacob almost laughed and cried at the same time. The dress was long, ethereal, and a vibrant bluish indigo that, even in death, brought out the best of her skin and hair. The sleeves covered where they had ruined her arms and the skirt covered her marred legs.

Savin had put her makeup on her, her death mask. He had covered the bruises, the stitches, the scars and left only what looked like unmarked pale flesh. For her eyes, he had gone black but with a touch of glitter, making her look as if she wore the night sky upon her lids. Her lips were painted black, that sensuous mouth he would miss kissing, but extended outward in a ghost of her little mischievous smirk.

It was her hair that was the true star, however. It had been trimmed up at the end, just a little, having grown out even more since her death. And around her forehead, Henry had woven a flower crown of asters, red nasturtiums, holly leaves, ferns and soft sprigs of ivy flowers. Jacob gave a weak smile as he looked at the two of them.

“Greenie, these must have cost you a small fortune.” He murmured as Savin finished the last touches of silvery highlights on her cheekbones and on the bow of her top lip.

“Honoring a dead friend has no price,” Henry murmured, “Besides. I never got around to making her one in time for the liberation of London.” He cleared his throat, his hands shaky. “We should...get ready. The tide will be on its way out, soon.” He turned, walking out quickly. Savin looked after him, then sighed and looked down at Kestrel.

 _“Yüksek uçmak ve iyi avı,”_ He murmred, his voice soft and melodic as he put the makeup away, washing lithe, russet hands clean of black and white and shades of grey. At the Frye brother’s look, the Turkish boy merely smiled, a painful smile, “‘Soar high and hunt well’,” He translated, “A wish for her next life.” He looked out the window at the sky, colored orange and pink. “We should get started,” He agreed, putting his friend's arm and heading after Henry.

They had already decided that Evie would throw the candle, Savin, Henry, Jacob and Aleck placing the coffin in the water. The flame hit the oil and lit it at once, fire and smoke carried out to sea. The wind blew, hard, orange and red light wavering on the water. Each Rook lowered their head, removed hats and headbands they were wearing; a rare moment of respect for the dead.

_“Leave her, Johnny  
Leave her  
Oh, leave her, Johnny  
Leave her  
For the voyage is long  
And the winds don’t blow  
And it’s time for us to leave her…”_

They all turned to look toward Edward Kenway’s daughter, with her hair full of fire, standing at the very edge of the pier, a tear falling from her eye the same as the others, but her voice strong, steady as any trained singer. _“Oh the times was hard  
And the wages low  
Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
And now once more  
Ashore we’ll go  
And it’s time for us to leave her…”_

Her hands were shaking where she clasped them at her side, shaking hard, and Evie took one pale hand in her darkly gloved one, her voice rising in quiet harmony. _“Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
Oh leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
For the voyage is long  
And the winds don’t blow  
And it’s time for us to leave her…”_

The flaming coffin bobbed on the edge of the horizon. _“I thought I heard the old man say,”_ Evie continued, her other hand going over Jacob’s as he tried to keep back another round of tears, _“Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
‘And tomorrow,  
Ye shall get your pay,’  
And it’s time for us to leave her.”_ He twined his fingers with his sister’s, hearing the Rooks begin to join in behind them as well. _“Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
Oh leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
For the voyage is long  
And the winds don’t blow  
And it’s time for us to leave her…”_

His eyes closed, and he could hear her among them, her voice untrained and soft, a little weak, but able to carry a tune in a bucket at least. _“Oh the wind was foul  
And the sea ran high,”_ He put his voice in harmony with hers, Evie squeezing his hand to keep him steady, _“Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
She shipped it green  
And none went by,  
And it’s time for us to leave her._

_Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
Oh, leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
For the voyage is long  
And the winds don’t blow  
And it’s time for us to leave her.”_

His eyes opened, the blot of fire and smoke that had been Kestrel’s earthly form barely visible, though through his tears he thought he could see a ship on the horizon. A new Jackdaw, with Kes on the bow, crouched in her purple-blue dress with her hair all wrapped in flowers. She was grinning at him, waving like an idiot and he had to try to keep back a laugh. The lot of them rose their voices together, and she threw out her arms as if she intended to fly.

_“We swear by rote  
For want of more  
Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
But, now we’re through  
So we’ll go ashore,  
And it’s time for us to leave her._

_Leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her,  
Oh leave her, Johnny,  
Leave her  
For the voyage is long  
And the winds don’t blow  
And it’s time for us to leave her…_”

There was a soft gasp and Jacob looked up, seeing a veritable flock of black birds flying above, and now he did laugh, tears still falling down his face. All jackdaws and rooks, flying out to sea, far from their homes in the trees and fields. He heard a soft chuckle behind him, turning to see a teary-eyed Savin behind him, his arm around Greenie’s shoulders.

“How was it you said that, what you said to her?” Jacob asked, clenching and unclenching his bad fist.

 _“Yüksek uçmak ve iyi avı,”_ Savin repeated, slowly, so Jacob could hear and understand, the other Rooks all staring at the birds, Jennifer suppressing her own teary smile, Evie covering her mouth with her hands, “Soar high and hunt well.”

_And I’ll do the same. For you, KesKes. I’ll hunt down all of them, liberate London, so no one else has to do this again._


End file.
